Confessions of a Suburban Househusband: Pt. 1

Gone are the days of throwing in a load of wash before work and coming home to dry it at your own convenience. Throughout my entire life, I have always been fortunate enough to have in-suite laundry; that is, until three weeks ago.

Picture it: Etobicoke, 2006. Eight story building + Seventeen units on each building + Four washers + Four dryers = a crap shoot every laundry day. Yesterday was one of those days.

I had many errands to run early afternoon, so I didn’t get a chance to start my laundry in the morning. As soon as I got home at 6pm I loaded up my hampers with pre-sorted laundry (Lights, Darks, Delicates and Towels) and trucked my way down to the basement. Pockets loaded up with a mint of Loonies and quarters. The Gods were smiling on my as I walked into the room and a lady had just taken all of her wash out and was putting them in the dryer… this meant all 4 washers were free. I quickly loaded up the machines with water.

This is where the logic had to come in. Different loads have different needs. I always wash in cold, with the exception of whites. After I figured out which load would go in which machine, I realized that would not work. One machine will only do cold water if it’s a delicate cycle, so I had to stop another washer and move the delicates yonder. After a few minutes I was done and ready to go back up stairs.

I assumed that, because the woman had just loaded up the dryers, I had about an hour and fifteen minutes to wait. Back upstairs I threw my steak on the BBQ, sautéed garlic and mushrooms and mashed up a mean potato. Finish with a glass (or two) of wine and I was stuffed. Dishes done, I headed back downstairs.

“It’s going to be a while.” Commented the aforementioned woman. “The dryers are working slow tonight. This is the 2nd time I am drying these loads and I have another to put in afterwards. So you’re looking at about 2 more hours.” You’ve got to be shitting me.

Long story short, all the laundry got finished and brought upstairs… at about midnight. After folding by candlelight (we have no lights in our living room yet, and The Boyfriend was sleeping so I couldn’t use the bedroom) I resolved to start laundry at 5am from now on.

I think come summer, I will have to pay The Lesbians an allowance to let us use their washer and clothes line. At least it’s only one small flight of stairs. Spending the day trucking up and down on my poodle dress and red heels was murder on my feet. How did June Cleaver do it?